


Vara: Spring

by pastelswitchblade



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, M/M, stubborn ragnar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 22:58:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3668361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelswitchblade/pseuds/pastelswitchblade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a beautiful princess comes to town, Athelstan finds out just how possessive Ragnar really is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vara: Spring

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing for Vikings. But come on, these two are basically cannon. Set between season 1 and 2 with no reference to season 3, so happy babies are happy.

The days were getting warmer and the ground was getting greener in Kattegat. Athelstan splashed his face with water from a small stream. He scratched at the whiskers around his chin and ran his fingers through his long thick hair. It was nearly long enough to tie back like the rest of the men in the village his age. He hadn’t had nearly as much time as they did to grow out his hair and beard, and he was beginning to feel envious of their intricate braids and stylings.  
“Like what you see?”  
Athelstan started and clamoured to his feet. Ragnar Lothbrok leaned against a nearby tree, his arms folded across his chest and a sly smile across his lips.  
Athelstan stammered, “No, no I was just—”  
“Your hair is getting much longer,” Ragnar mused. “Perhaps we can set some braids in it before our guests arrive?”  
“Guests?” Athelstan asked.  
“Yes. King Eadric is coming for a quick visit on his way to a very special thing. He sent a messenger before him and shall arrive in about three days time.”  
“Are we not attending the thing?”  
Ragnar clicked his tongue and grinned. “We have better things to do.”  
“I see.” Athelstan smiled. In honesty, he had no idea what “better things” meant, but he learned over the years not to question Ragnar when he thought he was being coy and mysterious.  
“I also hear that he is bringing his daughter with him, as she is of age and it is the time for marrying. They say she is very beautiful,” Ragnar giggled. The man, Athelstan thought, was like a child. He chased after pretty girls and pretty treasure, but was somehow still the best ruler Kattegat could have. The last few years had been bountiful and prosperous. And though Lagertha was gone, Aslaug bore Ragnar healthy sons. Athelstan felt that whether it be Odin or Jesus Christ, someone was looking down on them from heaven and smiling.

The next few days brought endless hunting trips and harvest as the town prepared for the coming feast. Everyone bathed and re-plaited their hair, mended old gowns and tunics, and adorned themselves in their best jewelry. The younger men payed special attention to their appearances, hoping for a chance to wed the illustrious princess.  
Finally, King Eadric arrived with three boats full of his company. Ragnar greeted him at the dock with brotherly affection, hugging the king and clapping him soundly on the back. “Earl Ragnar,” King Eadric said, “I am truly delighted to see you again. Let me introduce you to my daughter, and her aunt, my sister.”  
An elegant woman with rust red hair gracefully lowered herself onto the dock. She was dressed in a long green gown rife with gold beads that hugged her full figure. It seemed every piece of jewelry on her was gold as well, glinting and sparkling in the springtime sun. Ragnar took her hand and kissed it gently, a smile forming on the woman’s tightly pursed lips. “Welcome, princess,” he purred.  
The woman’s smile turned to a bright laugh. “I am not the pretty princess you seek, Ragnar Lothbrok, though I am flattered you think so. I am Edda, sister of Eadric. My niece, Madhavi, you will find...well, you will find her eventually.”  
King Eadric chuckled. “My daughter is fascinated with the animals and the earth,” he explained. “I suppose she jumped ship not too long ago to walk the rest of the way. There is much of Idunn in her.”  
Ragnar laughed shortly, nervously. “We will be sure to welcome her just as warmly when she does arrive.” Eadric smiled, and he led his company off the dock and into the bustle and chatter of the town. Ragnar grabbed Athelstan from the crowd by the elbow and pulled the priest into him. “Go into the forest,” Ragnar whispered harshly. “Find the princess. Guide her here.”  
“Why should I—”  
“The last thing I need on my hands is the King’s daughter lost in the woods, or worse, dead. Now go!”

Not long after he slipped into the woods, Athelstan came across the same stream he had rested at just a few days before. He splashed himself with water again, but this time felt different. His whole body was on edge, and the air around him felt colder. He was about to reach for his sword when cold, hard metal pressed against the side of his neck. The blade was short, just a dagger, for he could feel the hilt on the nape of his neck and his assailant’s breath caressing his hair. He mustered up what little courage he had and spoke:  
“Hello, princess.”  
“Hello, stranger. To what Earl do you pledge?” Her voice was strong but clear, like the stream that flowed before him.  
“I am for Ragnar Lothbrok, of whom you are supposed to be a guest tonight.”  
“And did this Ragnar Lothbrok send his man to rescue the damsel princess from the mysterious throws of the treacherous forest?”  
Athelstan said nothing, but his ears went red. The princess Madhavi sighed and took her dagger from his neck. “I thought as much. At least my father has learned to stop sending men into my woods. You best run along home now, I will be back before dark. But I am busy, and I will not be merciful if you get in my way.”  
“Busy with what?” Athelstan asked, and finally turned to look at the princess. The rumours of her beauty rang true as he examined her from head to toe. Her eyes were a bright jewel green, shining out from under a furrowed brow. Her hair was the dark brown of moist, fertile earth and hung over her shoulder in a single long braid. She was of short stature, but her presence was large and powerful, befitting of a princess.  
“I am hunting,” she said simply.  
“We have plenty to eat for the feast tonight. I assure you, there is no need for that.”  
“Yes, yes, I am sure you and your Ragnar…” She trailed off into silence, staring at the forest behind him.  
“What is it, princess?”  
Madhavi hushed him angrily and crouched beside him on the bank. He finally noticed she was wearing trousers and a quite plain tunic that hung loosely from her thin frame.  
“Look, there,” she whispered and pointed towards the woods where she was staring. Athelstan squinted into the trees, searching, until finally he saw the movement of a small male deer in the distance. “Stay here,” Madhavi whispered and before Athelstan could stop her, she disappeared into the forest. He did as she asked, and stayed crouched at the bank. A long moment passed, and he began to feel anxious, still keeping an eye on the lonely deer. Suddenly he caught sight of her again, slinking between the trees much closer to the deer. She crept forward with only a dagger in her hand, closer and closer to the deer. Either the animal was deaf, or the princess was deadly silent because it was only when she came within a body’s length of it did the creature turn. By that time, it was too late. Madhavi’s arm shot out and in one swift motion she cradled the deer’s head against her shoulder, placed her dagger against its neck, and sliced open its flesh in a fatal blow. The deer fell limp to the ground. Athelstan stood, his mouth gaping open in shock. Princess Madhavi turned to him and yelled through the trees, “Man of Ragnar Lothbrok!”  
“Er, yes?” Athelstan yelled back.  
“Are you strong enough to help me carry this beast to your town?”  
“Yes, I believe so, I am!”  
“Then get over here, quick as you can. The daylight is waning.”

The two barely spoke as they hauled the deer through the forest. It was only when they heard the distant rumble of townspeople that Princess Madhavi turned to him.  
“What is your name, man?” she asked.  
“Athelstan,” he replied, a breath of surprise in his voice.  
“Are you afraid of me, Athelstan?”  
Athelstan flushed again. “I suppose, but no— perhaps I— Well, I do not know.”  
Madhavi smiled. “You should be.”

At the feast, Ragnar sat Athelstan at the corner beside the princess, mumbling something about “new friendships” and “diplomatic cooperation.” He sat himself on the other end of the head of the table. Aslaug was at his side, and King Eadric between him and the princess. It was a plentiful, boisterous feast. The deer from the woods had been cooked as well, and received endless praise from Ragnar and the king. As the feast wore on, and the ale in his blood grew warmer, Athelstan gained the courage to lean over to the princess and ask how she managed the stunt in the forest.  
“You do not seem to grasp the way of the world,” she replied. “There is gain, and there is loss, but there is always balance. The creature knew he was to die, but knew his praise would come in death. In this way, he and I were both blessed in our work, and he understood so. That is why he let me kill him.”  
“How can an animal know is blessed?”  
“Because he is a child of the heavens, just like you and I. All of the land around you is Holy, Norseman.” she smiled and sat straight again and Athelstan knew the conversation was over. He looked up from the table and met Ragnar’s eyes. They were bemused, sly, and knowing, and full of a pleasure that still made Athelstan shiver with fear. Athelstan looked away.

Back in his bedroom, Athelstan was restless. Ale and uncertainty swam through his thoughts in a dangerous siren dance. What Princess Madhavi said at dinner was still eating at him, filling him with a strange sense of nostalgia. He finally decided to confront her in her quarters, which, under the influence of ale, seemed like a terrific idea.  
It took him some time to find Princess Madhavi’s room, but he finally stumbled upon her door and knocked at it with vigour. There was no reply from inside, so he knocked again, louder. “One moment, please!” Madhavi yelled, but made no move to open the door for some time after. Athelstan grew impatient. Though he would never burst in on a lady’s private chambers, he had been somewhat put in charge of the princess’s safety, and she might be caught up in some sort of dangerous activity…  
He threw open the door. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the candles, but he could still make out the princess on her knees beside the bed, her hands clasped and something small dangling from between her fingers. She saw him and stood, and Athelstan could then see the look of horror on her face. He processed what he had seen at an agonisingly slow pace until he could think of only one thing to say.  
“Odin does not hear your prayers better if you are kneeling.”  
It was enough. With a flourish, Madhavi was out the window and running across the grassy plain. Athelstan followed after, tumbling from the window and shouting for her to stop. She leaped and flew through the woods, as if the branches moved aside for her to pass. Finally Athelstan yelled at the top of his lungs, far enough from Kattegat that he wouldn’t be heard, “I know your God!”  
This distracted Madhavi enough for her to lose her footing, and she went tumbling down. Athelstan was completely winded by the time he reached her. She didn’t seem hurt, only tousled about by the underbrush. Unlike Athelstan, she seemed completely rested.  
“What do you mean by this? Answer me!” she demanded. There was panic in her eyes.  
“Did they take you? Did they take you from your kingdom? Or your convent?”  
Madhavi gasped. “Who are you, Athelstan?”  
“I was a man of God. Ragnar Lothbrok and his company attacked my monastery for its treasure and Ragnar took me as his slave. I am a free man now, but I still serve him as my Earl.”  
Madhavi hesitated before patting the ground next to her. Athelstan sat. “My Christian name was Mabel,” she said. “King Eadric heard of Ragnar’s success in the West, and decided to see what riches he could find himself. Unfortunately, he only came upon the convent in which I was raised.” Madhavi grew quiet. “Every one of my sisters was raped or killed or both. I was the only one left alive, as the King had pity on my young soul. But he changed my name, told people I was his daughter by an unknown woman, and made no mention of my true past. It would be shameful.”  
“It is not shameful,” Athelstan said. “You served God well, and now serve Odin. Both may light your way.”  
“How?” Madhavi whispered. “How, when we have been taught that there is one true God, may we exist in the eyes of Odin and these people’s gods? Our whole lives were devoted to denying his existence. If our roles had been reversed, God would have smite our heathen souls long ago.”  
“That is not true. We are children of the heaven, like you said. Whoever may be living there should be proud of our devotion.” But Athelstan did not quite believe himself. He placed his hand over Madhavi’s on the cold ground. It was warm against his palm.  
“So did Ragnar Lothbrok adopt you as a son?” Madhavi asked after a long pause.  
“No, of course not,” Athelstan smiled. “I am too old for such a thing.”  
“But he made you a free man. How may he do that without giving you some security of family?”  
“I do have security, I suppose...I suppose Ragnor is my family.”  
“Does he love you as a son?”  
“No, no I am sure of that.”  
“Then does he love you as a brother?”  
Athelstan recalled one of his first nights in Ragnar’s possession, when he invited the priest to join him and Laegertha in bed. “No, I do not suppose he loves me in that way, either.”  
“But he gives you shelter and care? Food to eat?”  
“Yes, of course.”  
Madhavi sighed. “Then Ragnar Lothbrok must love you most dearly, Brother Athelstan. I am just not sure how.”

Earl Ragnar and King Eadric sat in Ragnar’s chambers, toasting to each other’s wealth and bragging well into the night.  
“So who is your man with the short hair?” King Eadric asked finally, sipping a near empty goblet of ale.  
“Athelstan is his name,” Ragnar said proudly.  
“Athelstan, eh? He seemed quite close with my daughter at the feast.”  
“I assure you, he is a good man.”  
“No doubt, if you sent him into the woods to seek my daughter alone. Is he yet married?”  
“No,” Ragnar chuckled. “I do believe that our women intimidate him. Scare him, even.”  
“Really? Then perhaps my daughter would be a good match for him,” King Eadric mused.  
“No, I promise you, he must be afraid of your daughter most of all. She is a fine hunter, by the looks of that deer she fell, and must also be a fine warrior.”  
“She is not,” King Eadric sighed, and placed his goblet on the table before him. “And I must confess, she is not my daughter.”  
Ragnar went still with his goblet at his lips. “What do you mean?” he asked carefully.  
“She is adopted. From what I hear, much like you adopted your priest; your Athelstan.”  
“I did not adopt Athelstan. I...brought him into my care, from the West.”  
“As did I, with Madhavi. Surely, then, as former sniveling Christians, they would make a wonderful couple together?” King Eadric chuckled to himself. “I cannot imagine how boring their wedding bed must be, however…”  
Ragnar sprung to his feet. “I apologize, Eadric,” he grabbed a coat at random off the wall and started out the door, “I must relieve myself outside for a very long time.” He slammed the door behind him and left Eadric in daze of confusion of shock. He started down at his empty goblet.  
“Did I say something wrong?”

Ragnar’s fury grew as he found no sight of Athelstan in his bed chambers. He growled and paced like a caged animal outside his door, waiting for him to return. He finally caught sight of the priest coming in from the woods some time later, when Ragnar’s fury had waned slightly. Ragnar bristled when he saw that Athelstan was accompanied by the princess, and they seemed to be engaged in cordial conversation. Athelstan’s eyes grew wide as he saw his Earl standing outside of his chambers.  
“Ragnar, what are you doing here?” he asked nervously. “I thought you were entertaining the king in his chambers.”  
“And you seemed to have been entertaining the princess in the woods,” Ragnar snapped. “Have you made your wedding bed tumbling in the grass and brush?” He looked pointedly at Madhavi, who was still disheveled from her earlier fall. “I think I shall go now,” she muttered, and quickly left Athelstan to his own devices.  
“How dare you accuse an innocent girl of such flippancy!” Athelstan cried. “What has gotten into you, Ragnar?”  
“Nothing much at all,” he spat. “But by my word, you will not marry that girl.”  
“Marry? That sort of thing had not even crossed my mind!”  
“Do not lie to me, priest,” Ragnar snarled. Athelstan couldn’t remember the last time Ragnar had called him that and it shocked the breath from his chest. “You will do as I say, and stay away from her.”  
“I am no longer your slave, Ragnar. You cannot tell me what to do.”  
“But I am your Earl!” he shouted. Some of the townspeople began to poke their heads out of their doors to see what the fuss was about. “I am your Earl, and you will obey me!”  
“Ragnar, please calm down. You are causing a scene, the town—”  
“Earl Ragnar! You shall refer to me as your Earl, and nothing less, priest.”  
Athelstan gave up, exasperated once more by Ragnar’s boyish stubbornness. “Yes, Earl Ragnar.”  
“And you will never speak to the princess Madhavi ever again.”  
“Yes, Earl Ragnar.”  
“And you will never disobey me like this ever, ever again.”  
“Yes, Earl Ragnar,” Athelstan whispered. His piety seemed to have calmed Ragnar down for the moment, enough to prevent an embarrassing scene. “May I go to bed now, Earl Ragnar? Or is that forbidden as well?” Athelstan hissed fiercely.  
Ragnar was taken aback, but indignant in his rage. “You may.”  
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Athelstan strode into his chambers and slammed the door behind him, leaving Ragnar in the empty silence of the nighttime air. Although he most definitely won the argument, Ragnar had the cold feeling he had just joined the losing side of a long, long war.

For the rest of King Eadric’s stay, and for many days after, Athelstan did not speak one word to Ragnar. He was acting like a jilted woman, Ragnar thought, ridiculous and unreasonable. It was not his fault that Athelstan had decided to rebel against his own Earl’s word, to go galavanting in the woods with another Christian, and to undoubtedly reject the love and care Ragnar had provided him with. But the look on Athelstan’s face as he asked permission to take his leave that night, the anger that shone in his eyes, burned into Ragnar’s mind. He could not remember a time when Athelstan was ever truly mad at him, not fearful or confused or upset. He liked Athelstan better when he was a little dumb and a little more Christian, like a timid lamb. This new Athelstan that Ragnar had wrought himself was much stronger and much more defiant, as a good man should be. And that, to his own surprise, frightened him.  
Athelstan, meanwhile, was living quite peacefully without Ragnar’s ever-constant presence. The villagers offered him sympathy after Ragnar’s outburst in front of his chambers, and only a few saw Athelstan in the wrong. It was comforting, knowing that much of Kattegat now saw him as one of their own, instead of an unwelcome foreigner. It was quite some time before Athelstan began to miss Ragnar’s presence, but he was determined to enact some good Christian guilt upon the man and let Ragnar come to him with a sincere apology and nothing less.

“Go to him,” Aslaug said one night, as she lay in Ragnar’s arms after a particularly rough round of lovemaking.  
“I do not know what you mean,” Ragnar panted.  
“You are too distracted during the day to make any good decisions, and you are relentless in our bed at night. It is obviously that you are useless without Athelstan. Let the priest take you for a few days; I am too tired to keep up.”  
Ragnar sputtered. “What do you mean, take me?! I am not, not to be taken! And besides, he was in the wrong. If anything, he should come to me.”  
“And you should take him?”  
“Aslaug!”  
“We both know that he was not wrong,” she said sternly. Ragnar pouted, but said no more. With a heavy heart, he realized that his fears were confirmed: he had lost the long, long war.

Ragnar sat for longer than he’d like to admit at the tree beside the stream, waiting for Athelstan to appear again. Ragnar knew he came nearly everyday, alone, to look out over the water and trees. Finally, as the afternoon was in its hottest hours, Athelstan came from between the trees and crouched at the stream. Ragnar watched him for a while as he splashed water against his face, droplets running down his smooth tan neck. A twig cracked under Ragnar’s foot as he tried to move closer. Athelstan smiled and sighed. “Like what you see?”  
“I was just...I was here first,” Ragnar protested. He felt a tug in his chest at the sound of Athelstan’s voice. It had been so long since he heard it, and he had little intention of ever going through that again.  
“That’s nice.” Athelstan stood to look at Ragnar and placed his hands on his hips. Ragnar looked down at his hands. He picked a nearby weed and fiddled with it, a guilty look plastered heavily on his face. He looked like a boy just caught pulling a girl’s braid too hard, and it was very difficult for Athelstan to keep a straight face.  
“Is there something you would like to say to me, Earl Ragnar?” he said, fighting back a laugh.  
“I suppose, yes, there is,” Ragnar said indignantly, “if you will hear it.”  
“Insincerity will get you no where.”  
Ragnar growled deep in his chest, but finally looked Athelstan in the eye. “I would like to...apologize. For my behavior in front of our guests the other evening.”  
“And?”  
Ragnar blew air from his nose in short bursts. Apologizing, something he rarely ever did in his life, was quickly becoming one of his least favorite things. “And for my behavior towards...towards you.”  
“Why thank you for the apology, Earl Ragnar.”  
“There! I did it! Now you will talk to me again. You will come back to me, yes?”  
“Come back to you?”  
“Don’t be coy, Athelstan, it is not a good look for your face.”  
“I promise you, I am no longer trying to be coy. I am just not sure what you mean by ‘back to you’.”  
Ragnar shifted his weight from foot to foot, and dug the tip of his boot into the ground. He wasn’t sure himself what it meant, or what Aslaug meant by Athelstan “taking him” for a few nights, and it was all beginning to get very confusing in his head. Meanwhile, Athelstan just stared at him with his infuriatingly addictive lost-lamb eyes as if this wasn’t the most difficult thing Ragnar had done in his life. The word “taken” just flashed over and over in his mind, and so he said it out loud a few times, hoping it would help.  
“Ragnar, you are really not making much sense anymore.”  
“Taken! Took...I took you. Years ago I took you, and therefore you are mine.”  
“But then you let me become a free man. I only serve you as my Earl now. Does this still have to do with the princess?”  
“I do not wish for you to be taken by anyone else. I am the one who claimed you first, am I not? Therefore… Therefore…” Ragnar was now sure that apologies were the work of evil, evil devils. It was impossible to make sense of his own feelings now, let alone convey them.  
“Why are you so possessive of me?” Athelstan asked, barely above a whisper.  
“Because...I do not know, Athelstan. I do not know how I feel, all I know is that you are finally speaking to me again, and I am very happy about it. But it is not enough.”  
“What else do you want from me?”  
“May I hug you?”  
Athelstan laughed as Ragnar flushed angrily. It was the only logical solution Ragnar could think of. He would hug Athelstan, and then he would know what to do. Then he would know what words to use, how to solve his own insanity. That’s just how it worked; touch Athelstan, know what to do. He was like Ragnar’s lucky charm and helpful muse all at once. Why wouldn’t it work when Athelstan was the problem as well?  
“Of course you may,” Athelstan said. He held out his arms like a comforting mother, and Ragnar rushed into them. He hugged Athelstan fiercely, much tighter and much longer than he did King Eadric at the docks. His hands felt solid and supportive against Athelstan’s back, though the heat began them made him start to sweat uncomfortably. Still, Ragnar did not let go. Madhavi’s words rang loudly in Athelstan’s head until he had to let them echo from his own mouth, just to stop their relentless noise.  
“Ragnar, do you love me?” he asked in a whisper. Ragnar loosened his hold on Athelstan’s body, but did not let go. He stayed like that a long time, and Athelstan was beginning to question whether or not Ragnar heard him.  
“Yes,” he finally answered.  
“How do you love me?”  
Ragnar pulled back enough to look at him in the waning evening light. “What does that mean?” he asked.  
“Do you love me as a son?”  
“No of course not,” Ragnar laughed. “That is ridiculous.”  
“Do you love me as a brother, then?”  
“No, I suppose not.”  
“Then how do you love me?”  
“I love you as a—” Ragnar caught the word before it left his mouth. Just as he thought, having Athelstan made everything as clear as the stream. The word was lover. He loved him as he loved Aslaug, as he had loved Lagertha, as he had loved so many women before. He wanted Athelstan to come to him, to be taken by him, to be his in the oldest of ways. In this realization, Ragnar found peace but also a large dose of fear. What if Athelstan didn’t feel the same? What if he thought Ragnar was disgusting or strange? It was not unheard of or even forbidden for a man to take a male lover, but what did the Christians say?  
“As a what?”  
Ragnar buried his face in Athelstan’s shoulder, which was a slightly difficult feat for the larger man. “As a lover,” he whispered. Athelstan’s heart jumped to his throat. He wasn’t sure he heard Ragnar correctly, but he didn’t dare ask him to repeat it. He let Ragnar sag against him, as if saying it had taken all of his energy.  
“Why?” Athelstan asked. Ragnar pulled back again to present him with a truly exasperated look. Athelstan laughed nervously. “What, it is a perfectly valid question!”  
“Because…” Ragnar thought long. “Because you are perfect.”  
Athelstan flushed bright red and sputtered. “But I am not a woman.”  
“I don’t care.”  
“Ragnar, you are not being reasonable. I am a man, you cannot love me as you do a woman, it is impossible.”  
“No, it is not!” Ragnar said indignantly. Athelstan had yet to flat out refuse him, and he was determined to wiggle his way into the Christian’s heart (and, coincidentally, hopefully, his trousers) any way that he could. “It makes no difference to me whether you are a woman or a man. I love you, and I know that now. Therefore, I will have you.” Athelstan stumbled back as Ragnar pushed forward, until his back collided with the thick trunk of a nearby tree.  
“That is impossible, Ragnar, I have…”  
“This?” Ragnar said, and cupped a large hand over the front of Athelstan’s trousers. The smaller man gasped and clutched at Ragnar’s wrist, ripping his hand away.  
“Yes, that!” Athelstan cried. He looked angry again, and Ragnar backed away slightly. “For the love of Odin, you can not just grab at whatever you want and expect it to be yours! Have some manners, some maturity, for the gods’ sake!”  
Ragnar pouted, but had the decency to look a bit guilty. “Does that mean you do not want me?” he muttered, looking at Athelstan with the most innocent, watery eyes he could muster. Athelstan was quite literally stuck between a rock and a hard place. More specifically, a tree trunk and a very, very difficult man. It wasn’t as if Ragnar hadn’t suggested that sort of sinful thing before, but it had always been in the companionship of a woman. And Ragnar was a good man; he had provided Athelstan with so much compassion and support that Athelstan found himself quite irreversibly attached to him. Athelstan soon began questioning not the validity or sincerity of Ragnar’s feelings, but the pure logistics of two men committing such an act together, and whether or not Ragnar would soon grow disinterested in his unyielding body.  
As he thought, he watched Ragnar’s face fall and grow much, much colder. Athelstan felt like he was stealing a cherished bone from a puppy, and the guilt overpowered every other doubt in his mind. Accepting that he was completely insane, and cursing every god he knew, he leaned forward and kissed Ragnar quickly, a fleeting touch of his lips just to get Ragnar to stop looking at him like that. It worked, and Ragnar’s expression quickly turned to surprise. Then giddy joy, then the sly pleasure that made Athelstan’s stomach drop to his crotch. Athelstan felt impending doom.  
Ragnar quickly caged him in with his arms against the tree, scattering appreciative kisses and nibbles against Athelstan’s neck. Athelstan’s heart pounded against his chest, threatening to burst through and break against the forest floor. Never in his life had he been touched like this, and Ragnar’s wandering hands wrought a cloudy haze over any reasonable thought. They climbed under his tunic like vines, creeping up his back and pulling blunt scratches against his shoulders. Ragnar roughly pulled Athelstan’s tunic over his head, and the cool evening air was harsh against his chest. But before he could protest, Ragnar had his chin in one hand and was kissing him. His lips were rough and chapped, but sweet, his tongue playfully licking at Athelstan’s mouth. Athelstan let his jaw go slack and Ragnar pushed in, running his tongue over the back of Athelstan’s teeth and inside of his cheeks. As Ragnar sucked his lip into his mouth to nibble on it gently, Athelstan let a short moan escape his throat. He flushed even hotter than he already was. It was such a sinful noise that he’d never thought himself even capable of making, but as Ragnar bite harder into his lip and held his hips tighter, more and more of the same came spilling from his lungs.  
Athelstan’s whines drove Ragnar over the edge, and he pressed his body closer to rut gently against the other man. Athelstan cried out, clutching and pushing at Ragnar’s arms, but made no move stop Ragnar from his work. Ragnar pushed his knee up between Athelstan’s thighs, and Athelstan’s head fell heavily against Ragnar’s shoulder. It was almost too easy to get him all worked up and panting in his arms, but Ragnar knew he would soon grow addicted to this. Athelstan was larger than the women he was used to holding, but so much more pliant and lost in himself. Each touch to his skin was met with a whine or groan, and Ragnar played him like a harp. He sucked marks into Athelstan’s neck as he reached towards the ties on Athelstan’s straining pants. It was only then that Athelstan stopped him, and Ragnar had to keep himself from rolling his eyes in impatience.  
“You can’t,” Athelstan panted. “It’s not the same, we can’t…”  
“I told you, I don’t care,” Ragnar said firmly. “I assure you, we can.”  
Athelstan gnawed at his own lip, fruitlessly fighting against his own desire. He was positively wrecked, his chest heaving and his face red and his hair deliciously tangled in the bark of the tree. “How?” he finally asked, shyly, almost coyly, and it set fires in Ragnar’s mind. The fact that Athelstan was so innocent, so utterly unaware of his own effect on Ragnar’s hunger, made Ragnar feel like a corrupter of good. And he absolutely loved it.  
In a flash, Ragnar was kissing him again, and Athelstan fell into the darkness of his own pleasure. He felt his trousers loosen around his hardness and fall to the forest floor in a pool around his ankles. He felt so exposed and unprotected, Ragnar’s hands the only clothing to his name. He heard Ragnar call his name as if from a far distance, and opened his eyes. The evening light was waning around them, but he could still see Ragnar’s eyes flashing bright blue fire. “Keep your eyes on me,” he said, and slowly knelt before Athelstan with his hands on the back of his thighs. Athelstan clutched the tree behind him for support. “What are you—ah!”  
Ragnar licked up the Athelstan’s cock like a seer’s palm, and it shot lightening bolts of pleasure through his body. “St— please!” he cried, and he felt the breath of Ragnar’s laughter against his thigh. He took Athelstan’s hand in his, pressing it back against the tree. “Hold on tight, priest,” he whispered, before taking the head of Athelstan’s cock in his mouth and sucking hard around it.  
It took all of Athelstan’s strength not to scream into the empty night, his head arching back and scraping against the rough bark. He buried his free hand into braids atop Ragnar’s head, and Ragnar growled, sending vibrations down his shaft. Ragnar took more of him into his mouth, licking his tongue against the underside of Athelstan’s cock. The tight heat pushed Athelstan further and further towards the edge of existence, as if he might die of pleasure here in the cold woods.  
Ragnar watched as Athelstan squirmed beneath him, writhing and shaking at the will of his ministrations. He had always been on the receiving end of such work, but giving to a man so blissed out as this was nearly as fun. Soon the tightness in his pants grew too distracting, no matter how hard he pressed the palm of his free hand against it. He grunted angrily and let Athelstan fall from his mouth, catching him by the hips when his knees began to buckle. As he kissed and bite his way up Athelstan’s torso, he untied his own trousers to release his aching cock. He swirled a tongue around one nipple and suckled on it as he stroked himself. Athelstan giggled, pulling at Ragnar’s braids. “That tickles, sto-stop! I am not a woman!”  
Ragnar took both Athelstan’s cock and his own in his hand and Athelstan gasped. “Neither am I,” Ragnar purred and moved his hand at an agonizingly slow pace. His thumb wiped over the tip of Athelstan’s cock, and used the wetness there to make his work easier. Athelstan began muttering nonsense in a language that was neither Norse nor Saxon, and Ragnar knew he was close.  
“Please, Ragnar,” he pleaded in Saxon, “Please, I can’t— it’s too much!”  
“Please, who?” Ragnar crooned.  
“What? What are you— ah, Ragnar!”  
“Ragnar what?” He held his hand still at the top of a stroke, pressing hard into Athelstan’s tip.  
“Earl Ragnar!” Athelstan screamed. “Please, God, gods, Earl Ragnar, I can’t take it anymore!”  
Ragnar grinned, and with a few more rapid strokes he pushed them both over the edge. With a grunt, Ragnar spilled seed over his own hand and watched Athelstan lose himself in his body.  
Athelstan felt as if he had fallen from a great cliff and crashed into an ocean of pleasure that washed over him in relentless waves. The swelling euphoria inside him was more violent than any of Thor’s greatest storms. It felt like seasons passed him by until finally, finally, he came tumbling back to earth. He collapsed against Ragnar’s chest, and Ragnar lowered them both slowly to the ground. Ragnar wiped his hand on the grass beside him and pulled Athelstan in tight as the smaller man shook and tried desperately to catch his breath. Finally, he grew quiet, and Ragnar scootched himself into Athelstan’s arms to look up into the man’s face. His eyes were screwed shut, and he was still muttering nonsense under his breath. Ragnar pressed a thumb to his furrowed brow and Athelstan finally opened his eyes.  
“Is this the first time you have spilled your seed with another person?” he asked quietly.  
Athelstan shut his eyes tight once more and Ragnar chuckled. “You are too much, my little lamb,” Ragnar whispered, and snuggled himself into Athelstan’s chest. Finally, Ragnar felt his arms gently wrapping around him, not quite long enough to reach across Ragnar’s broad back. Athelstan smelled of sweat and sex, and Ragnar breathed him in deeply. “You know,” he muttered, “Aslaug has kicked me out of my own bedchambers for a few days. And I require a place to sleep. And as your Earl, I—”  
Ragnar felt a sharp slap against his back. He laughed and rolled over, smothering Athelstan under him despite his pushes and protest. This Athelstan, Ragnar thought as he nibbled on the lobe of a bright red ear, this Athelstan he liked the best.


End file.
